


Tear It Up

by Savorysavery



Series: "Soldier in the Streets, Messy in the Sheets": Prompt Fills for the Fire Emblem 2016 Prompt Freeze [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Anal Fingering, Biting, Body Stocking, F/M, Kissing, Mild comedy, Romance, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 17:50:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5636245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savorysavery/pseuds/Savorysavery





	Tear It Up

**Summary:** Letting loose and letting go have never felt so good.

 **Genre:** Romance, Smut

 **Rated:** Mature

 **Warnings:** Anal Penetration, Kissing, Fingering, Biting

**Prompt:** [M!Robin/Tharja, body stocking fetish.](http://fe-kink-meme.tumblr.com/post/129606102488/mrobintharja-body-stocking-fetish)

 

 **Author’s Note:** This starts off day 1 of my fills for the fe-kink-meme on tumblr. I’m very excited to be starting on this project: it’ll last from 1/4 to 1/18, and will really flex my fic skills and beef up my works. Plus, it means writing for different fandoms, and for you all, which is always a treat. But, without further ado, let’s jump in and get dirty!

 

The way the body stocking hugged Tharja’s skin made Robin want to go to temple.

 

It was sinful, a cinching of black mesh pressed against her pale flesh, hugging her wide hips, ample breasts, and snaking its way across thick thighs. Already, the Dark Mage uniform left little to the imagination: the body stocking, though _technically_ covering most of Tharja, left little more, making Robin stop to look at her more often than not.

 

It was driving him mad, too: he was losing focus during battle, electricity sparking off the mark and sizzling grass, not revenant flesh, sword striking better at stones than slashing foe. It was the kind of focus –lack of– that could prove deadly, and Chrom said as much one day after a particularly nasty incident.

 

“Tactician!” Chrom shouted, pushing his way through their makeshift camp. They’d chosen a field a fair distance from their battle, downwind of the smoke and remaining carnage, and returned to their camp, all exhausted, Chrom viciously angry.

 

“Look, Chrom, I-”

 

Chrom leaned in close, blue eyes dark, face blotchy with anger. “You near signed Olivia into her next life!” Chrom barked. Robin found himself near to cowering, brown eyes squeezing shut as spittle landed on his cheeks.

“It was an accident,” Robin tried, but Chrom huffed. He could feel the eyes of the entire camp on them now, and wanted to faint.

 

“Chrom, please.” It was Olivia, her voice coming from near the cook fires. “I’m fine: my outfit is simply not as resistant as previously thought. Plus, Lissa healed me good as new.”

 

Chrom turned sharply and looked at her, and she shifted, dashing between some of the tents with a squeak, and then her turned back to Robin, brow furrowed. “Fix it _now_ ,” he ordered. He rarely did that these days, preferring to consult Robin as co-commander, rather than a Prince to his soldier. The low hiss of his words meant business, and Robin nodded quickly. “I’ll see you later.”

 

Robin wouldn’t though: after that encounter, he kept to his tent, taking food that Sumia graciously brought –field chicken, vegetables stirred and fried in the – style, and a few of the caramel’s Anna’s cousin had sold them the week before– and ate in silence, ignoring calls at his tent flaps for company.

 

He was knee deep, in fact, in a map when someone finally didn’t call, but simply stepped in without greeting or welcome.

 

“You look… markedly more dark. Been dabbling in my books?” Tharja pushed aside his tent’s flap, eyeing the area.. Maps on a folding wooden table, stacked tomes with fading magic, and a few tin plates with bits of food were around the area, leaving only a surprisingly neat cot and a trunk as the only clean things.

 

“Ah, hello, Tharja,” Robin greeted, eyes locked to the maps on his table. He felt the back of his neck warm and was thankful for his hair and high color: it obscured his embarrassment. “What brings you to my tent?”

 

“The same,” Tharja mused. “ _Obsession_.” She paused a beat then smirked, black eyes glinting. Though Tharja had been enamored –still was, by everyone’s standards– Robin could sense that she had calmed herself, keeping herself under control, despite the itch in her hands to both hex and fondle the man.

 

When Robin didn’t reply, Tharja pinned the tent’s flap and stepped in further, deciding to stand rather than beg a seat. “I may not be Lissa, but I can tell there is a weight in your mind. Tell me, my dearest, what ails you,” Tharja stated. “I can spare the ear for you, in trade for another day lived.”

 

Robin couldn’t bring himself to look up at Tharja’s face, gaze stuck now to her knees. He’d never noticed, but they were exquisite: pale and soft underneath the netting of her bodysuit. They met at the middle of long, thick thighs and sat above strong calves, and were looking so-

 

“Robin?” Tharja was staring at him now. “You have not spoken for five minutes and seem to be focused at my knees. Do I have something you… desire?”

 

 _Thump._ Robins heart was racing now, a quick foxtrot of pitter-pattering that rushed blood to his face. He felt the room heat up as if he had summoned a fireball, and felt his jacket tighten, pants suddenly so heavy at the center of his crotch. He wanted to pat the excitement down, but Tharja’s keen eyes were locked on to him, and he was unable to escape her gaze.

 

“…Robin?”

 

“Your body stocking!” Robin blurted the words and smacked a peach toned hand across his mouth, free hand digging into his platinum blonde hair, yanking at the root. He passed his brown eyes over Tharja, and felt his ears warm, blotchy blush creeping up from toes to brow.

 

“My…stocking?” Tharja’s reply was a purr, and it shot straight to Robin’s groin. He felt his erection press against the button of his pants, and he sucked in a puff of air through clenched teeth. “Oh… you mean _this_.”

 

“Y-Yes…”

 

“Ah. Well then.” The air, already charged, changed, and Tharja undid her cape, dropping it in a pool of fabric around her ankles, the small gust from the fabric swirling some of the papers on the floor. She stretched her arms up, and the stocking shifted, pulling taut against her flexed form, showing a near flat belly and flattering her wide hips. “You mean my _body_ stocking,” she said, and suddenly, her fingers were at the back of her top, and she was _undoing_ it, and it was dropping to the ground so fast that Robin wasn’t sure it had _actually_ happened. “Do you think they accent my breasts?”

 

They were bare beneath, no breast band to be found. Most of the women in the band wore them: a wrap of fabric to bind he breasts and provide extra security against stray arrows, another layer of defense in battle. Yet Tharja wore nothing of any semblance of such thing: she let her breasts remain free, dusky pink nipples pressing, erect and large, against her suit.

 

“Why didn’t you say something, I wonder?” Tharja cooed. She was close –so close– and Robin was wet, the head of his cock thrumming with blood and desire and _want_. He squeaked out something, and Tharja cocked her head, smirking despite her erect nipples and near nudity. “I bet you feel so…helpless.” She shifted her hand out, pressing it against the front of his pants, and giggles when he let out a squeak of a moan. “Such a tiny little mouse…”

 

Robin let out a mewling whimper and pressed his hips into the air again. “Well, I suppose it can’t be helped,” Tharja sighed. She shifted her hands down and undid the wrap at her hips, letting the long length of cloth fall. “I suppose I can cast a hex to relieve you.”

 

Tharja’s hips were bare now, but most notably, her crotch had been revealed, a tangle of dark, black hairs over soft, pink lips. Like her breasts, she wore no underwear, opting to chance an errant breeze than protect her loins. The sight of it –so bare, so pink, so _wet_ –made Robin’s mouth water as if he’d been thirst for ages, and a kind of hunger crept up his throat.

 

“Well, are you going to sit their, or shall I turn you into my puppet?” Tharja asked, looking up from beneath her long, black bangs.

 

“I… er…”

 

“The proper thing to say here, Robin, is ‘Let’s fuck’ or some sort of _bawdy_ thing.” Tharja raised a thin brow and gave a dark smile. “But you’re so helpless I suppose I’ll do it for us.”

 

Those words hit hard, and suddenly, Robin was up and his hands were on Tharja’s shoulders and they were mashing their lips together hard. Tharja exhaled, a length of sweet breath, and Robin invaded her mouth with his tongue. Their teeth were clacking, hands fumbling now to remove Robin’s clothes, and they were stumbling backwards, moving towards the cot. “There’s a good boy,” she cooed, and grunted when Robin pushed her onto the cot, hands at her shoulders, pinning her to the stretched canvas.

 

“What do you want?” Robin asked, and Tharja blinked slowly, thick eyelashes obscuring her hazy eyes.

 

“ _Tear me up_.” That was all it took. Robin dug his fingers into the mesh of her body stocking and pulled, and it tore, ripping up from hip to breast. He eagerly dived for her right breast, now exposed, and set to biting the nipple, hips rutting against her.

 

Robin’s pants finally came off, and Tharja cooed with eager curiosity, hands moving up and down his back and hips and thighs, feeling the hardening length between his legs. When Robin tore more of her stocking, she let out a gasp, and let him ravish her left breast, his hand pressing against her hip. “Tharja…” Robin whispered. He ran his hands over her hips, feeling the mesh against his palm. He canted his hips to rub against her, the glide of mesh and her warmth over the head of his cock s intoxicating that Robin could have ejaculated on the spot.

 

“You’re so eager, like a child at the teat,” she stated. “Let me _reward_ you for your… zest.” Tharja clucked her tongue and whispered something, and suddenly, her fingers were slick and pressing at Robin’s hole, shocking him into stiff silence. She pressed again. He let out a sharp cry as she penetrated him, digits wiggling inside, and pressing insistently against his prostate.

 

“T-t…T-t…” Robin was breathless, and couldn’t find words.

 

“Use your big boy speech, Tactician,” Tharja supplied. “Or else you’ll never get what you seek.” She was moving hand fast now, relentlessly so, and it was making speech _so_ hard for Robin that he wasn’t sure how he’d make it to press between the opening of her body stocking, to feel that slick, flexing heat around him.

 

“S-Stop… To…Too much,” Robin managed, and Tharja pressed down once more before she withdrew her fingers, sticky and wet.

 

“Too much, or not enough?” she mused, and for the first time, Robin genuinely smelled the heat from between her legs, now spread beneath him.

 

“I want to touch you,” Robin replied.

 

“Ah,” Tharja intoned. “Very well, return to your enjoyment.”

 

Robin felt around for the middle of her thighs, felt for that hot, sticky hole that he had smelled. Her arousal was sharp in the air, and Robin anxiously let two fingers spear her, let himself dig them inside her. He crooked them up and was rewarded with a soft hiss of air, and Tharja’s reddening cheeks. She closed her eyes, clearly embarrassed, and bucked against him with the same fever.

 

“Robin,” Tharja began a minute later. “Often, I love to be the bearer of bad news, but in this case, it is a bit of a sour taste.” Robin’s fingers were still shifting inside of her, grazing over the spots she wanted to feel _pressed_ , light touches instead of heavy, near painful presses. “Robin, I will request that you stop doing this and try…other means.”

 

Robin stopped quickly, withdrawing his fingers. “Do you mean… _penetration_?”

 

“You better do well, or I’ll murder you in your sleep,” Tharja stated. She was clearly done with his fumbling fingers, hips pressing up against him. “But feel free to be selfish: I _am_ yours.”

 

Robin pressed into her without finesse, hips rolling until they were flush with Tharja’s crotch. Beneath him, Tharja was silently writhing, eyes closed as she panted, chest rising and falling, and soon, they were grunting, moving in snaps and with loud grunts, Tharja’s hand between her legs, fingers playing at her clitoris.

 

“You may go harder, you know,” Tharja managed to pant, thumbnail digging into her clitoris. The shock of pain send her back arching, and she let out a moan, not carrying about the fact that to the right of them was Lucina and the left Sumia and Lissa. She cared only for Robin, and for his hard cock, and for the quickening pace of his hips, and for letting out bawdy, tavern girl screams that echoed around the campground.

 

Robin sped up indeed, eyes closed in focus as he pumped in and out of Tharja, feeling her clenching, moist heat. It was a drug: a hex concocted by her body, and it was spinning him in, sure to capture him under her spell. He never wanted it to break, wanted to feel the slid of her body stocking, torn by his hands, against his skin, the scratch of her hands on his back. It was heaven, or as close to it as a living mortal could come, even though it was sloppy.

 

“I am near the end of our time,” Tharja stated.

 

“I’m close too,” Robin replied. He let out a grunt and felt himself twitch inside her, then he spilled, semen rushing out into Tharja.

 

Tharja bit down into his shoulder, drawing blood with great, gulps of breath, and she climaxed, shuddering out her orgasm, hips still moving against Robin’s. Eventually, they stilled, and he withdrew, pulling out a bit of the mess he’d left inside her. “I suppose one never remembers to ask before they come inside, do they?”

 

Robin blushed dark red and shifted so he was next to her, feeling her slickness and his semen on their thighs. Despite the declining warmth of the fluid, he found himself not minding, chuckling softly to himself. “I suppose not,” Robin stated. “Forgive me?”

 

“Of course.” Tharja caught the sweetness in her voice, and blushed, pale cheeks coloring dark red. “Ah, how dare you make me so sweet!” She tried to seem offended and disgusted, but she found herself smiling instead, a more relaxed, lazy grin that still set Robin a bit on edge. “Well, I suppose I can be sweet for… this.”

 

“Can you?”

 

“I can very well make the attempt. After all, this kind of thing requires such tactics, don’t you think?”

 

“This kind of… thing?” Robin quirked a brow, tilting his head. He felt a bit of the mesh bodysuit at his arm, and slung it around Tharja, feeling the slide against his skin a more welcome warmth, rather than a consuming arousal.

 

“Yes,” Tharja said. “The kind thing that drive men to sleep with their fellow soldiers. The kind that may take… an undetermined amount of time to work out for the sake of possible future hexing?” Tharja’s unexpressive face did not betray her insistence, but Robin could sense that she was trying to convey more, that she _wanted_ more form him. That warmed Robin’s heart, and he shifted more, accommodating for two in the bed.

 

“Well,” Robin said, and he closed his eyes, grateful for Tharja’s warmth beside him. He felt himself drifting. “I suppose you can continue your tests and studies on me for as long as necessary.”

 

“How very, very helpless of you, my dear mouse” Tharja whispered, resting her face on Robin’s shoulder as she let herself fall asleep.


End file.
